Connection
by ardavenport
Summary: Qui-Gon needs rescuing. Obi-Wan rescues him. Qui-Gon learns something unique about the Force.
1. Chapter 1

**CONNECTION**

by Anne Davenport

Part 1

"That's not supposed to happen." Coomens ran his hands through his graying, sandy hair and looked despairingly at the one-way window into the gray cell. The Jedi had uncrossed his legs; they twitched, his head fell forward and he shuddered. Then he stilled again; his hands rested in the lap of his blue kaftan, palms up. They hadn't seen him sleep or rest in the two days they'd had him. Except for these occasional spasms, he didn't move.

Najiid shrugged and scratched under one of his yellowing tusks. "He's a little early this time," Najiid noted. "Not that he really keeps a schedule."

"Not him. That." Coomens pointed at the blinking red activity indicator on the status screens under the window. Najiid leaned over to look. It stopped. They stared at it, then at each other.

"That thing's not working. It can't be. If it were, he would have been climbing the walls yesterday!" Coomens shouted at the screens that now indicated normal function. Najiid made a low rumble from the back of his throat.

"According to this, his brain is getting nothing but white noise from anything." Najiid waved a claw at the readouts. "No sight, sound, taste, smell or touch. Nada." The Jedi sat cross-legged again, in the middle of the floor, facing them. The senso-block band was still clamped around his forehead; the ready lights blinked normal. They waited. In the cell, the Jedi sat still, apparently oblivious to anything, eyes half closed, bearded jaw slack, his long brown hair falling down his shoulders. He wore nothing but the pale, blue disposable caftan they'd put on him before locking him up.

He twitched again. The indicators flashed red again. His spasms looked disturbingly more purposeful this time; hands, then wrists, then arms. Then he stopped. The indicators went back to green.

Najiid looked back at Coomens. "You want to go in and check?

"No," Coomens responded quickly, pulling back.

Najiid grunted. "You're afraid to go in there."

Coomens crossed his arms. "I'm not stupid. He shouldn't even be sitting there like that. I don't want to find out what else he's not supposed to be able to do." Aside from his unnatural motions, Jedi were also trained fighters and Coomens barely came up this one's shoulder.

Coomens warily sat down next to his partner. His expensive blue suit was rumpled and not very fresh anymore. He had not left their hidden "spa" since their people had starting leaving. A pile of stale food cartons and a collection of cups cluttered the shelves on the wall behind them. One of their bio-engineers had absconded with their droids on his way out the door. Coomens reached inside his tailored jacket and fingered the small hand blaster in its holster.

"You don't think we should..."

Najiid scoffed. "We're already up to illegal bio-trafficking, accomplice to a negligent death of a family member of a well-connected politician and unlawful imprisonment of a Republic Judicial Official. They'll double the punishment for that last one if we added attempted murder."

"What do you mean by 'attempted'? Who says I'm not going to do it."

"You do. Every time you won't go in there." Najiid's small green eyes challenged him. "Come on. If we were up to killing him we'd be clawing our way to the top in the Outer Rim instead of making a cushy nest for ourselves on a core world."

Coomens gave in; his partner may have the tusks, claws and bulk of a tough, but he had the soul of a lawyer. And neither one of them had a taste for killing. Or keeping hostages, either. It was far too perilous.

At first it had worked. It had been just dumb luck that Coomens had the Senso-block with him when the Jedi had confronted Dirgish about the Baron's son. The resulting panic, and Najiid setting off all the security and fire suppression systems on their floor, had given Coomens the chance slip the band over the Jedi's head in the middle of the scuffle. With all his senses scrambled, the Jedi had been completely helpless while they'd stripped him, scrubbed him and tossed him into the holding cell until they could figure out what to do with him. But shortly afterward he had actually gotten up off the floor and turned to the observation window as if he could see through its mirrored surface. Even while the monitors showed only minimal, random brain activity, he'd settled down for this vigil. That was when their cohorts had began to crumble.

"How's he doing it?" Coomens asked, not really expecting an answer.

Najiid shrugged. "I don't know. I guess a lot that mystical hoodoo they say about Jedi must be true. He's using the Force. That's what Dirgish said before she bailed." Their most reliable chemist had taken the pittance than Coomens had offered her and bolted the planet, emphatically telling them never to ever contact her again for her services. So had their bio-engineers. Even the hired muscle had left town with a fraction of their expected pay. Now it was just down to the two of them. And the Jedi.

He wasn't moving. Again. For now.

"Do you still think we can wait him out? Until we can get more off world?" Coomens asked without looking away from the window.

Najiid leaned over the console and punched up the Acquisition Alert that had frozen their accounts more than a day ago. The screen text flashed large and red with a matching bleep warning everyone that all transactions were frozen until further notice. "Sorry for the inconvenience" glowed steadily green in tiny text at the bottom of the screen. "They can't keep this hold on forever. No one else can spend anything, either. All we need is a minute."

And it had been such a sweet operation, too, Coomens moaned to himself. The highest and mightiest in the planetary government could go to work, do their jobs, get a few illegal thrills on their breaks or after hours and no one would know. No sneaking off to the dingy parts of town, no hiding strange expenses from their families. Once again Coomens regretted ever taking the Baron's son's money, especially after they had been so careful about screening their customers (none of the others had given a pittance of information to the Inspectors; they knew how to cover their tracks). He'd obviously lifted one of their products with him on his last visit and had managed to kill himself with it, in front of witnesses. In the family pool. The Baron had been on a rampage ever since, first harassing the municipal police, the government inspectors, the planetary regulators and finally he had escalated it to the interplanetary judiciary.

Coomens keyed up the Missing-Alert on the Jedi. There was a picture of the Jedi's long, bearded face and a listing of last known locations. The description said that his name was Qui-Gon Jinn, but he was just "The Jedi" as far as Coomens was concerned. He did not know any other Jedi and right now he really didn't care to. Jedi were supposed to have all kinds of mind powers, but until now Coomens had always attributed it to hyperbole.

The Jedi twitched. A little noise, a quick inhale came from the cell speakers. The Jedi slowly raised his hands.

"No..." Najiid started to rise from his chair. The Jedi had his hands on the senso-block.

"He can't." Coomens was out of his seat as well and pointing at their prisoner. He looked down at the senso-block's key chip, resting on the console. "He CAN'T."

The Jedi's fingers tapped and pressed the black, plastic band at his temples. For long minutes they only heard the tiny movements of the Jedi's hands. Then there was an audible click. The senso-block slipped, falling down over the Jedi's nose and then clattering on the floor. The Jedi immediately followed, toppling over to the side. He twitched and made involuntary grunts. But that didn't reassure them. He'd done the same thing when they had first put the senso-block on him and it had taken less than an hour for him to right himself.

"How much of our assets did you say we got off world already?" Coomens asked without taking his eyes off their 'prisoner.'

"Less than twenty percent."

Coomens shrugged. "I can live with that."

"Yeah, me, too."

* * *

Strange, Qui-Gon thought. He had never thought plain gray was such a violent color. But the ceiling above him assaulted him just by his being able to see it. The floor was hard like needles. Pungent air washed through him. Echoes rained down on him. Long minutes passed before the impact of his surroundings seemed to lessen and he finally lay still.

He knew he had been cut off from his body for days, but not much beyond that. Jedi could control their senses, meditate and immerse themselves in the Force. This was the first time he had ever felt...trapped by it. He shuddered and unsuccessfully tried to rise. His hypersensitivity to the room around him made him feel ill. He closed his eyes again and lay still again.

Qui-Gon ruefully thought about how sure he'd been that he had created his own balance, how prepared he was. But no Jedi training, no exercise, no meditation cut one off so completely from the world. The body, the senses were always there, available. Now he saw that without them, he had simply been clinging to where he should have been, an external specter to the body he could sense and move only through the Force.

His captors were near. He could sense them as well, only two left nearby. And...Obi-Wan was coming. He had almost lost himself in the ever-expanding void of living beings of the crowded building, the district, the city around him until he'd sensed something, someone familiar to focus on. Distance had meant nothing; he could concentrate and feel a better connection to Obi-Wan than he had to himself. But Obi-Wan was whole, mind and Force, while he was...disjointed. And worse, he was weakening. While the Force gave strength to his spirit, it did little for the body he could barely access.

But without any reference to the living world he could do little more than randomly agitate his Padawan for days. How strange that he couldn't even conceive of words or pictures without a body. He'd had only the intuition of memory without any of its form. It was only when he had reached out to Obi-Wan when his Padawan was deep in his own meditation that they had merged what Qui-Gon knew with the world. It had been a huge rush of images and sounds, a jumble of days compressed into fleeting seconds, but it gave Obi-Wan the landmarks he needed to locate him and Qui-Gon enough thought to know what had cut him off from his senses and what to do about it.

He opened his eyes again. Not surprisingly he was in a cell. He felt the Force around him and he reached out to it. His hypersensitivity increased, but he could push himself up off the floor and then slowly he stood. His body felt unfamiliar and clumsy and he was covered with only a single, long, rough piece of fabric. His mouth was parched; his joints hurt. his head ached. He needed focus.

Qui-Gon staggered to the large mirror he faced, pulled back and drove his hand through the reflection. Hand and Force went through the wall, bending it back and crushing the edges away from his arm. His lightsaber landed in his outstretched hand; his fingers closed around the hilt and it ignited. He heard cries and panic and retreat beyond the mirror. He pulled the lightsaber carefully back through the hole.

Back now turned to the wall, he slid down it to sit on the floor. He felt utterly drained and he dispassionately thought that he had rarely used the Force with such focused and intense power like that. But it gave him no strength. That made him feel sad.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes, his hands in his lap, lightsaber held up in a salute. He concentrated only on its physical presence, denied to him for so long. The hum of the blade buzzed too loudly. The hilt balanced poorly in his hands. The floor was too hard. The wrinkles of fabric that he sat on irritated him. He felt discord even in the air.

Other noises and sounds intruded on his attempt at solace. He ignored them. Motion, voices, footsteps. He shut them out, ignoring their meaning. But equilibrium eluded him. After long minutes he realized that he was just shutting things out again. At least trying to, and doing it poorly. He felt sad again.

Something touched him. His lightsaber shut off. Qui-Gon opened his eyes. Obi-Wan leaned over him, his thin Padawan's braid hanging down from behind his ear. The rest of his short, brown hair was untidy, sticking out in odder ways than usual.

"Master?" Obi-Wan's hands covered his. Qui-Gon hadn't realized he'd been clutching his lightsaber so tightly. He loosened his grip, letting Obi-Wan take it away and lay it on the floor next to him.

"Obi-Wan." He had no voice; it was just a whisper. His Padawan looked worn and tired, his blue eyes looked gray with worry.

"I don't look that bad?"

Obi-Wan's concern brightened when he smiled.

"You have looked better, Master."

"Hm." He nodded weakly. "I suppose I can do something about that now." But his words seemed to have no strength behind them.

Inspector Mazik watched his lieutenant lead the suspects away. Sargent Hosim set loose a couple of audit droids on the computers. It had been a very productive day. She peered into the gray room where they had found Jinn sitting on the floor. With that lightsaber on, no one would go near him except his partner. He looked terrible and a medical droid was already there. Kenobi hovered nearby. At least that kept both Jedi busy and out from underfoot and away from the real police work.

They did get the job done; Mazik had to admit that. After Jinn had gone missing and Kenobi could only insist on the vaguest, hazy 'feelings' about what had happened, Mazik had thought about locking him up; Jedi or not, two days without sleep made anybody crazy. Then he had planted himself in her office to 'meditate' and three hours later, pow, he'd had a vision. Mazik had been shocked to discover that a Jedi vision was actually sufficient evidence for a warrant from a Republic magistrate, if you got the right one. Their methods were weird, but they got the job done.

Kenobi led them right to Jinn. And everything else they were looking for. Illegal bank accounts. Embezzlement. Illicit services. And records for everything. Jinn had apparently kept them so badly rattled that they hadn't erased much at all. All their underlings had disappeared but the real culprits were in custody. Mazik savored how really rare that was. The big ones usually got away.

Mazik had not imagined that the Baron would go so far as to get the Senate to send Jedi to help with his son's death inquiry. Mazik had seen that there was something big connected to it right away and had maneuvered the grieving father into demands that aided her. He hadn't needed much prodding; the Baron had gone completely over the edge, spinning tales about deep rooted corruption in the government that could only be uncovered by powerful outsiders. How odd that now it looked like some the pod scrapings that he'd spouted had actually been true. She'd known that they were using government accounting to hide their profits, but Mazik never imagined that the criminals she was looking for were actually operating from the central government buildings.

Kenobi approached and told them they were taking Jinn back to Couroscant. The Baron had dispatched his private ship to ferry them back to the central world. Mazik thanked them and wished them well. She'd recorded everything they did for the courts; she didn't need them anymore. Mazik decided that if she didn't get a promotion for this case, she would lodge a protest.

End Part 1


	2. Chapter 2

**CONNECTION** - Part 2

by Anne Davenport

They had just gone into hyperspace. The ship's crew, all two of them, had left the Jedi in the Baron's private cabin. It was small for a private suite, but large and plush for a small space cruiser. Most of the furnishings were in shades of blue, trimmed with bronze, with a sitting area of low tables and padded chairs on one side of the cabin and another sitting area on the other, dominated by a large couch that could be curtained off and converted to a private sleeping area.

Obi-Wan spoke with the ship's protocol droid in its alcove at the other end of the cabin. Qui-Gon lay wrapped in Obi-Wan's robe in a plush, deep blue recliner by the long table by the window port. They had found his boots and belt; Obi-Wan had put them with his lightsaber on a corner of the table. But his captors seemed to have disposed of his clothes, so they had traded the disposable kaftan for a knee-length, cream-colored silken shirt from the Baron's closets.

Obi-Wan approached and laid a tray on the table.

"Qui-Gon?"

Qui-Gon opened his eyes.

"The medical droid did say that you should eat something..." Obi-Wan nudged the tray toward him. Qui-Gon could not think of anything that he wanted to do less than eat. Which, of course, meant that he should. He sat forward and looked over the offerings.

Obi-Wan had quite over-done it. Or perhaps it was the Baron's droid. The tray was laden with sliced fruit, dainty vegetables, soft savories, crackers, flavored spreads, sweets, cookies, tiny pastries. And a choice of water, juice or tea. Qui-Gon picked the easiest thing to start with, the tea. It was too sweet, but cold and felt good going down. He selected the plainest looking cracker that he could find and a bit of fruit next. Obi-Wan watched every bite.

Qui-Gon knew he had to look terrible. The stern black medical droid on the planet had filled him up with nutrients and fluids and insisted that his symptoms were consistent with a quarter cycle of deprivation, not days. In spite of the droid's attention, Qui-Gon did not feel much better. His hypersensitivity had gone, but his whole body felt stretched and weak. He stared out the cabin windows at the swirling netherworld of hyperspace.

Tired of being watched, Qui-Gon gestured toward the tray. "You should eat something, Padawan." Obi-Wan nodded, poured some water and ate a cookie. Obi-Wan looked worn out, his tunic rumpled and stained in a few places, but hardly ill. Qui-Gon leaned back in his chair.

"Are you feeling better, Master?"

"No," Qui-Gon answered without pause or a look back at his apprentice. "But...I don't feel any worse."

"Perhaps we should have stayed?"

"We will be on Couroscant in a few hours. It is unproductive to reconsider leaving at this point, Padawan," he replied a little testily, closing his eyes. He felt the Force but it felt strangely distant and that disturbed him to his core. The Force was the Force. It was all changing, but there was no changing it. That meant that there was something wrong with him. Something wrong in a way that no medical droid could fix.

"What do you see, Padawan?" he asked.

"Master?"

"You're staring, Obi-Wan."

Without even looking, Qui-Gon knew that Obi-Wan had lowered his eyes.

"What do you see, my young Padawan?"

"You look worn out. Older. Deathly older. Master."

"Hmm." Obi-Wan's honest appraisal reassured Qui-Gon far more than his solicitations. It was impossible to go forward without a clear picture of where you were. He folded his arms across his chest, arms buried deep in the opposite sleeves of Obi-Wan's robe. They covered him, but the sleeves felt annoyingly too short.

"I feel...disconnected. Still. Yes." After failing so thoroughly to achieve any sort of balance in himself on the planet he had simply stopped trying. Rested. Waited. He had sat passively while the government droid ministered to him. He'd let it and Obi-Wan lift him into a float chair to take him up to the ship on the landing pad. He'd ignored the distress he had sensed from his apprentice. Balance was not something to struggle for. Grasping for it would only make it disappear faster. He accepted his present state as they took him to the cabin and Obi-Wan spoke to the pilot before they had left the planet.

Now...he felt as if he were drifting closer to picturing the source of his internal disturbance. His Padawan sensed a deathly weariness in him. He didn't sense that, but his mind told him that Obi-Wan's insights were clearer on this, even if his own feelings failed him. He needed to—.

"Will you be finishing soon, Master Jedi?"

"Eugh!" Qui-Gon actually started at the sound of the Baron's bronze-plated protocol droid's voice coming up from behind him. Obi-Wan leaped up, crossed behind his Master's chair to shut the thing off. Then he bodily carried it back to its alcove. Qui-Gon never really cared about droids one way or another. He used them when needed and ignored them otherwise. But Qui-Gon now sat up, rigid in the chair, his disquiet magnified into genuine discord. It was unthinkable that a mere droid could surprise him like that. The half-revelation that he'd been nearing had completely evaporated.

Obi-Wan hurried back to his Master. His blue eyes wide, Qui-Gon looked almost panicked. Whatever it was, whatever was wrong, it was worse. He regretted not more forcefully waving the droid off when he had seen it approach. But no, the droid had not caused the problem, just aggravated it. Obi-Wan knelt by his Master's chair.

"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon almost choked, then swallowed. He reached down and Obi-Wan took his hands. "What do you see?" It was very bad. Whatever was wrong, Obi-Wan felt with a certainty that it would kill his Master if it was not stopped. But if he could have named it, he would have driven it away or laid down and taken it on himself it he could.

"You look...as if you can't breathe, Master." It was the first thing that came into his mind, without thought. Trivial as it was, he offered it to his mentor rather than stammer for the right words that he didn't know anyway. But the older Jedi did look as if he were starved for oxygen as well as sustenance. That whatever was wrong was slowly, inexorably strangling him.

Qui-Gon's eyes widened with surprise. He blinked a few times and withdrew his hands. Then he pressed them together before him, fingers intertwined. He pressed them to his stomach, just below his rib cage. Obi-Wan recognized the gesture. It was the simplest Jedi training. You imagined the Force flowing through you with each slow breath. One way to inhale, the other to exhale. Jedi taught it to small children in the Temple as one of their most basic lessons.

Yet Qui-Gon seemed to be having trouble with it. His breaths were shallow, unfinished. He strained, his eyes closed. Obi-Wan stood and pressed his hands over his Master's. He breathed in deeply, down through his whole body to the base of his spine and the Force flowed with it. The he exhaled, the Force giving him strength as he pushed all the air out. Qui-Gon seemed to catch on the second time he did it.

The Force doubled around them, tripled and more. Such a simple thing, Qui-Gon thought. Something that he had known since before he could remember anything at all had been missing; something too trivial to see.

After long minutes, he lowered his hands. Obi-Wan stood to face him, his expression still grave, but no longer distressed. Qui-Gon felt as if he'd been washed clean. The Force flowed through a Jedi, gave the Jedi strength. But for days he had been disconnected from the material world that the Force flowed through. When he had stretched out his mind to Obi-Wan he'd been relying on the Force within his own body, the one source of life energy that he had been connected to, but nothing else. And that had cost him, drained him terribly. But he had no idea how to draw on the Force without his body; he never would have thought of doing so.

"Master? Are you well?"

Qui-Gon nodded. "Yes, thank-you, Obi-Wan," he said sincerely. "I think I am. For the first time in days it seems." He sighed wearily and leaned back in the reclining chair, its cushions giving him only physical comfort. He had been so very mistaken. He'd actually wondered if he might have attained a kind of oneness with the Force; the kind that no living being could ever achieve. No wonder Obi-Wan had sensed a deathly illness in him. He'd been using the Force to pull strength from the cells of his own body, but nowhere else. If he had not stopped it, he would have been dead within a few days. And then he really would have been one with the Force.

Next to him, Obi-Wan looked hopeful. He laid his hand on his apprentice's. "Thank-you, Obi-Wan" he said softly. "For your excellent insight." Obi-Wan laid a hand on his shoulder and smiled back, his blue eyes glad. Qui-Gon thought he saw a hint of wisdom in them. He glanced at the table next to him. With his returning strength he actually felt an appetite as well.

He reached for a plate and invited his Padawan to join him. They ate mostly in companionable silence. Obi-Wan thankfully gave more attention to his food than to Qui-Gon. But as they finished Obi-Wan did begin to ask Qui-Gon about what had happened to him. To both of them.

"I could sense your presence, but it was as if you were everywhere," he explained. Qui-Gon nodded.

"That is how it felt. Space, dimension had no meaning. It was such a shock when I returned, I continued to draw only on myself, but I never realized it. Might not have without your help. You saw far more clearly than I did, Padawan." Obi-Wan nodded.

Qui-Gon finished his second cup of tea. "A Jedi can feel the Force flowing through him. In me it was stagnant. I was isolated. Or constipated, I suppose ." Qui-Gon frowned. That was certainly an unpleasant metaphor. He put his teacup down. "What do you see, Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan finished chewing the last of the sweet bread. "You look much stronger. The Force is with you, Master." He smiled.

Qui-Gon considered this. He looked about the ship's cabin. He gestured with one hand. A blue pillow launched itself off the couch, arced high across the room and bounced off the inactive protocol droid. It was a small, harmless test. But Qui-Gon felt greatly reassured with how natural it felt. Another pillow flew off the couch, sailed through the air to land precisely in the bowl of a table centerpiece in the sitting area.

The next pillow, a shiny bronze one, was Obi-Wan's. But it just missed the matching centerpiece in the sitting area, almost knocking it over before falling down in between the chairs. Qui-Gon looked unhappy. He pointed to the opposite end of the room for Obi-Wan and the near side for himself. After a moment two pillows, at opposite ends of the room, leaped up at the same time and met in the center of the cabin before plopping down to the floor below.

It was a simple exercise. Each Jedi used one projectile to "throw" with the goal of hitting the other's projectile. It was a test of coordination between Jedi, working together and anticipating the other's moves. Soon the room was littered with pillows. There were plenty to pick from; the Baron obviously loved his comfort.

They hit their mark every time, but that did not surprise Qui-Gon. Normally this exercise was done with objects more challenging than pillows, but they needed to be mindful of their borrowed surroundings. After a time they stopped. One of them was going to have to get up and reactivate the droid to clean up the mess.

Qui-Gon was quite satisfied that he would be himself again. He could contemplate the deeper meaning of his experiences later. He pulled Obi-Wan's robe closer around him and pulled up the hood; the Baron's taste in clothes was a bit too thin for his taste. Strange, he thought, that existing only in the Force had cut him off from the living world that generated it. He would meditate on it later.

* * *

Depa Billaba surveyed the cabin while the ship's pilot and co-pilot retreated to their cockpit.

Well, there was surely a truly interesting story behind this.

Pillows lay everywhere. A deactivated droid leaned in a darkened service alcove. Cups and plates and bits of food littered a large tray on a table by the viewports. One crumpled, blue napkin lay on the floor.

Depa didn't know Master Qui-Gon Jinn or his Padawan very well; she had met him in Council but not any more often than many other Jedi. But she had supported the this mission against other Council members' misgivings and was pleased with hearing of its success. When the pilot emerged and informed her that his passengers were 'resting' she had gone in to see for herself. She didn't sense anything wrong, but she knew that Master Qui-Gon had been captured and injured.

His Padawan, Kenobi, was sprawled in a cushioned chair, his Master in a recliner beside him. Kenobi's hair was too short to be too messy, but he looked like he had been living in his clothes for days. And Master Qui-Gon's clothes seemed to have completely gone missing. He obviously wore nothing but a thin shirt that just covered his body and what looked like his Padawan's robe, since it was ridiculously short on him. His hairy, bare legs stuck out under it with his naked feet out over the edge of the chair support. His boots and lightsaber lay nearby.

Depa had been concerned and puzzled by Kenobi's strange reports about his Master's disappearance, but upon his recovery the entire situation had resolved itself. The planetary government thanked the Jedi Council for their intervention and begged discretion since now they seemed to be at the initial stages of a huge scandal.

But something odd, something intriguing had happened. She sensed no disturbance in the Force, no threat, but there was still...something. And she had only to look at the scene before her to confirm that. Not only had neither Jedi stirred when the ship exited hyperspace, they did not even awaken when the ship had arrived at the Jedi Temple landing platform.

Yes, Master Billaba thought to herself as she tucked her hands into her robe's sleeves, it was a rare circumstance indeed when a Jedi Master and his Padawan were caught in such a peculiar pose. There would be a very, very interesting story behind this.

End Part 2


	3. Chapter 3

**CONNECTION** - Part 3

by Anne Davenport

Qui-Gon Jinn placed his feet shoulder width apart and leaned his head back, his eyes closed. He breathed in very deeply. Then again, pushing the air noisily out from deep down in his lungs. He cleared his mind, continuing with his breathing exercise. The floor was smooth on his bare feet, but not cold. The room temperature was warm and comfortable even in the long, plain infirmary gown he wore. The lighting was annoyingly bright, even through his closed eyelids. But all infirmaries seemed to be lit that way, even in the Jedi Temple.

He had woken up a short time ago in the Temple infirmary, very happy to find that he was quite capable of getting up, bathing and tending to his own hygiene on his own. The remaining weakness and achiness in his joints were attributed to his 'unusual cellular damage' that the medical droid spoke of. But beyond 'completely reversible', Qui-Gon was not interested in the details. He would have preferred to return to his own room to recuperate, but apparently his condition was unique enough to demand that he stay for a day in the infirmary.

The droid had told him that his Padawan had rested and then stayed with him until the Council and then the Archivists had demanded his attendance before Qui-Gon had woken up. Qui-Gon was glad for time to gather his own thoughts. The Council and Archivists would soon enough come for his report on what had happened.

He stood in the center of the small, sterile private room. Standing straight, he slowly raised his arms out from his sides to assume a standing, meditative pose. He breathed deeply, aware of everything he felt. The very faint, low sound of the air circulators. The strange fatigue in his body, behind his eyes. The renewed strength in his limbs, the scratchiness at the back of his throat. He felt subtly weary, but not quite unwell, as if he might get a headache if he exerted himself.

The droid had explicitly told him that he was not to partake of any heavy exercise for the next three days before leaving him alone. Qui-Gon did not like that, but he would abide by it. He was quite certain that his Padawan would be given the same instructions and would enforce them. The stress on his body was considered to have been life threatening. But he mostly only saw that through the others around him.

He recalled waking, still on the ship, finding Master Billaba bending over him, Obi-Wan fretting behind her. He had thought about telling his Padawan to calm himself, but the genuinely concerned expression on Depa Billaba face stopped him. She had asked him if he wanted her to call for a medical capsule to take him into the Temple. That was when he had decided that they must have landed on Coruscant already. He'd stared up at her. There had seemed to be a time gap between when she said something and when he understood it. He'd nodded.

When it came, along with two medical droids, they eased him into it and took him off the ship. He'd closed his eyes and did not remember anything until he opened them again in the infirmary. He had recognized the air; it was always a bit more lifeless than in the rest of the Temple. There was talk about him resting and he knew he'd already deduced that his body wanted sleep and if he was on Coruscant then there wouldn't be any reason for him not to. But there were voices, but not from the droid that gently removed his borrowed shirt and Obi-Wan's robe. Medical droids were always very quiet and well-oiled. Everyone else was making noise.

Qui-Gon remembered turning his head to see Master Yoda looking at him. Yoda had large, expressive eyes, but Qui-Gon couldn't remember seeing such sympathy in the old Jedi master's green eyes, for him, since he was a small child. He had almost stirred himself to think about it at the time, but decided that it wasn't important enough and had closed his eyes again.

Qui-Gon now stared straight ahead at the plain white wall a few meters away with a few inset, gray medical fixtures blinking, yellow, red, blue. He knew he must have looked deathly ill to generate the sympathy he had seen around him. But he'd never sensed that himself. Disconnected from his body or tended to by Obi-Wan, he had never felt in danger of dying though everyone around him behaved as if it had been a near thing to him.

He stared forward, not seeing, not hearing, his mind blank. He didn't think, but he felt his way back to the memory of the days he'd spent cut off from the world. His senses faded into muffled gray with no warmth, no cold and then even that receded.

Everything vanished at once. His awareness became one huge void with no form, no body. And no feeling. He couldn't even feel satisfaction that he could recreate his experience. Or concern that he wasn't sure how he'd done it, or how to control it. Or remember what he'd meant to do with it. Or how to return from it. His mind expanded into the void with no body or reference and that seemed to ignite some memory of anguish, of being trapped...

Qui-Gon felt as if he were falling. A free, light-headed sensation...that ended when arms and a body caught him. He really had been falling. His eyes opened and squinted at the bright lights above. Uncoordinated, he tried to get his legs under him, his feet clumsily sliding forward. He kicked something and heard a grunt. Qui-Gon looked down at a quite vexed Master Yoda who glared back and rapped his ankle with his gimmer stick.

The arms got a firm grasp around his middle, pushed him forward and he regained his balance.

"Master?" Obi-Wan held him steady. Feeling disoriented, he put his arm around the younger man. This return to the world wasn't nearly as bad as before. He didn't think he had caused any new injury; he had not been sitting in one position for days. It had only been...

Qui-Gon had no idea how long he had been in that bodiless void. A fraction of a second or an hour were equally plausible. And he had been completely unaware of Yoda and his apprentices' presence. Obi-Wan moved him toward the medical couch and he accepted the guidance. Apparently he still had much to learn about this sort of mediation.

"Reckless, you are," he heard a raspy voice say from below as Obi-Wan pulled the blanket up over him. They both turned their heads to look down at Master Yoda. The small green Council member had sat down in the middle of the floor, his clawed hands folded over the top of his gimmer stick. His old face scrunched up in disapproval, he slowly shook his head at Qui-Gon.

"Need to pursue this, you do not."

His Padawan looked away from Yoda's disapproval and gave his own Master a simultaneously reassuring and worried look. Qui-Gon laid his head back on the pillow and raised his eyebrows back at both of them.

"So sure, you are?"

"Hmmmmmmm," rumbled low from Yoda's throat and he lowered his long ears menacingly. But he did not say any more. Qui-Gon would have been surprised if Yoda had ordered him to stop. Yoda would freely express his disapproval on any subject, but he would not forbid any exercise that did not lead to darkness or violate the Jedi Code. On those grounds, Qui-Gon was secure and it had been a very long time since Master Yoda's disapproval had troubled him.

"Save you from yourself, no one can, if you continue. And of that, I have no doubt." He flicked his stick toward Qui-Gon before carefully rising, turning and hobbling to the float chair that was parked by the door. He climbed in and the chair rose in the air. Qui-Gon sighed and let his shoulders drop. Even if he wasn't entirely bothered by a confrontation with the small and very old Jedi Master he still wasn't completely calm about it. So, Yoda's last remark from the door startled him.

"Think of yourself, you may not. Think of your Padawan," Yoda pointed his gimmer stick at Obi-Wan. "You must." Then the door slid closed behind him. There was a long silence. Then Obi-Wan sat down on the edge of Qui-Gon's medical couch.

"Master.."

"You wanted to know what I was doing when you came in–"

"I know what you were doing, Master. I don't know why."

Qui-Gon felt disappointed. "Surely you can see the value of what happened?"

"No, Master. It almost killed you. And why did you need to pursue this now?" Obi-Wan persisted, his young face and blue eyes earnest.

"Perhaps I was a bit pre-mature in attempting it now," Qui-Gon admitted. "But I needed to reassure myself that my memory was intact."

Obi-Wan shook his head and laid his hand on Qui-Gon's arm. "Master you completely cut yourself off from the living world, from the moment...from everything. I'm...concerned that you would do that. I'd thought you'd recovered from what happened, with no injury."

Qui-Gon silently looked back at his Padawan, suddenly feeling like he was the person who wasn't seeing. He had always taught Obi-Wan to heed the moment and the living world around him. He had always been strong in the Living Force. Now he felt compelled to go in a different direction.

But Obi-Wan was right. What he was pursuing was very dangerous and at odds to his own teachings. At least on the surface. The Force was still the Force, and he felt certain that this way would complement his own...in time, when he knew more. How odd, Qui-Gon thought. He knew that he was viewed as a bit of a rogue by Council members like Master Yoda. Now, it seemed, he felt drawn to rebel against himself.

He reached over and briefly laid his large hand over Obi-Wan's.

"I am recovered, Obi-Wan. Please be assured of that." But privately Qui-Gon knew he was changed, at least a little. He had been left with a terrible question that he needed to answer; if he had died on the mission, whole in mind in the Force, but still without body, what would have happened? He felt the pull of this question so strongly that it had blinded him to the perils of asking. Finally, he began to really sense that.

"You're going to continue," Obi-Wan stated, a little sadly. The long braid that hung down past his shoulder showed how many years they had been together, how well the Padawan knew the Master.

"Of course." Qui-Gon sighed, smiling and sitting back, the blanket and gown rustled together as he moved. But Obi-Wan did not respond to his cheerfulness. "But not immediately. Since I am confined to inactivity for now, I shall consult the Archives. I will be required to report to them anyway. But I cannot imagine that something like this has not occurred before." Obi-Wan's hand found his again and tightened on it. "But after I have rested a bit." Qui-Gon reassured. He had to admit that he felt drained by his short experience. He had been disgracefully overconfident about his abilities to master his circumstances during the mission when he had been held prisoner, and now yet again in his meditation. Master Yoda had ample reason to disdain him.

"I shall rest first," he promised, settling back under the blanket in that white, infirmary room. Obi-Wan smiled back, but he did not get up from his seat on the edge of the couch. He stayed, his hand still resting over his Master's, his blue eyes full of fondness and concern. And Qui-Gon though that he had a very smart Padawan.

Much to learn, Qui-Gon thought, closing his eyes.

_I have much to learn._

**- END -**

(This story was first posted on tf.n - 16-Jan-2006)

**Disclaimer:** All characters and situations belong to George and Lucasfilm; I'm just playing in their sandbox. 


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